


Happiness

by Emphysematous



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Power Play, Rameric, Ramsay eats every time I write about him, Sibling Incest, Slut Shaming, blowjobs and anal sex, or should that be Domsay?, pure filth, surprisingly no blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 12:58:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10101785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emphysematous/pseuds/Emphysematous
Summary: Ramsay and Domeric meet up for a quick afternoon fuck.That's basically it. I mean, I could try and tell you it's all meaningful and artistically relevant, but it's really not. It's just straight-up Bolton incest porn. Is that what you wanted? You disgust me. Let's be friends.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a snippet from a much bigger piece that I'm working on, but I thought I'd give my characterisation of Domeric an airing and see how people like him.

It's a sunny but blustery day and Ramsay peers cautiously through the dusty window when he hears hoofbeats outside. An expensively-dressed man jumps lightly off an expensive-looking mount and walks it through to the lean-to barn next to the cottage. Satisfied that it's Domeric, Ramsay unbars the door and sits himself back down at the table to wait. It always takes an interminable time for him to settle his horse.

By the time Dom finally taps softly on the door and lets himself in, Ramsay has set out a mug and bottle of wine and is just unpacking the last of the sack that he'd brought from home. He asks his usual greeting. "What's your name, miller boy?" The lordling cocks his head at him from the doorway, curls of brown hair wisping across his face in the breeze.

"Ramsay, m'lord." He stretches out, leaning on the wall with his feet up on the table, lacing his fingers behind his head.

Domeric shuts the door behind him, dropping the bar into place to secure it. "Ramsay _what_?" No matter how many times he's asked that, he still manages to put just as much aristocratic challenge and sneer into it, and to make Ramsay's stomach lurch again.

"Ramsay _Bolton,_ " he replies smugly with a challenging grin. Domeric shakes his head, smiling, taking off his cloak. Ramsay sits up, boots hitting the stone floor with a sharp thud. "Ever sucked a cock, pretty boy?" he growls, raising an eyebrow, stealing Dom's next line from their ritual.

"You should know," Domeric pushes his hair back from his face, reaching out to help himself to Ramsay's mug of wine.

Ramsay neatly grabs it back from him before he can take a sip. Domeric hadn't earned refreshments yet. "Go on then," he nods toward his crotch, breeches already unlaced.

"Hello brother, nice to see you too..." Domeric mutters sarcastically, stripping off his gloves and jacket. He takes his time tucking the gloves into a pocket and settling the jacket neatly over the back of a chair. Ramsay watches him in silence until Dom glances at him for a reaction, when he simply glances meaningfully down at himself again. Domeric rolls his eyes but dutifully gets down to his knees. Ramsay's skin prickles from the rush of his orders being obeyed by this exquisite highborn man - a House heir, no less - crawling in the dust to service him after just a word and a nod. He would never tire of that power.

As the lordling sets to work, Ramsay leans back again, taking a long slow mouthful of wine. Causally, he rests one hand on the top of Domeric's head, winding his fingers into those curls. He lets Dom take his time for a while, enjoying the teasing of his tongue and the little huffs of breath against his skin - and then tightens his grip and slowly, inexorably pushes him down.

Dom instinctively resists, cords in his neck straining against the pressure, his hands pushing at Ramsay's thighs. Ramsay doesn't let up and eventually Domeric snatches in a breath and gives in. His throat opens and his nose hits Ramsay's pubis and there's just heat and wetness and closeness and the incredible soft sounds of choking struggle. Dom's nails claw into his thigh and Ramsay holds him in place for a long moment before hauling him off his cock for air. His eyes are streaming, nose running, cheeks pink. Fuck, he's beautiful. He stares up at Ramsay balefully, a tear trickling down his cheek, swiping at the snot and saliva on his face with a crisp white shirt cuff. Ramsay raises his eyebrows, a silent questioning challenge, and Dom looks back down, his right hand working at Ramsay's cock while he sniffs and catches his breath.

Domeric lowers his head to continue but Ramsay holds him fast, enjoying the sight of him tearful and snotty - his perfect brother dirtied and stained. "What do you want?" he asks, head cocked. Dom pauses for a moment, then opens his mouth, extending his tongue to just flick at the very tip of Ramsay's cock with a shy smile. A good effort, but he won't get any merit for pandering. Ramsay shakes him by the hair. "Use words. Tell me what you want, or you'll get what I want."

For illustration, he pushes Dom's head down again, making him stay there and struggle for longer this time. He stretches his other arm up to run through his own hair, luxuriating in how good it feels. How much those increasingly desperate noises and attempts to pull away turn him on. When he's allowed to surface, spluttering and gasping , Dom manages to cough out, "fuck me?" He blinks through watery eyes, looking up, a mixture of hope and shame making his face blush red.

Ramsay lets go of him with a tiny shove. "Fuck you?" He frowns with well-acted distaste. Dom gazes up at him, eyes big and begging. Pleading. Ramsay sighs melodramatically, like he'd been asked to grant some incredibly generous favour. "I may do. If you make it easy for me. Go and do your thing." He dismisses Domeric with a wave of the hand, shooing him away like he's a small child. Dom scurries over to the bed, shedding clothes as he goes, hands shaking and eager.

Ramsay turns his back and unwraps a barely-warm pastry he'd pilfered from his mother's morning bake. He pours more wine and eats slowly with his fingers, taking his time. He knows that Domeric is waiting for him, knows that he only has a short while before he'll be expected back at the keep. Nevertheless, he doesn't hurry.The pastry has peas mixed in with the meat and potatoes and he picks through the filling meticulously, digging out each one and flicking them into the empty fireplace, noisily licking his fingers between each morsel.

After endless waiting, Ramsay finally drains the last of his wine, stands and turns to see how Dom's getting on. He lies stretched out on his back on the sheets, legs bent at the knee and spread apart, the telltale sheen of oil on his inner thighs leading a slick path to his backside. His hands rest on his belly, but it's obvious he was stroking himself seconds ago, his cock glimmers with oil and it's still gathered in pools between the fingers of his right hand. He stares up at Ramsay from the pillows, hair haloed about his head, a tiny worried smile on his lips. His skin is flushed, a smooth pale canvas that Ramsay aches to marr with teethmarks. Dom doesn't like bruises however, no matter how pretty they look on him.

Ramsay steps over to the bed, letting his breeches drop while he yanks his shirts off. He toes off his boots and kicks the whole lot absently behind him, holding his hand out wordlessly. Domeric scrabbles to find the bottle of oil and tosses it clumsily to him. He lies back, spreading his legs open again, biting his lip while Ramsay stands over him, slowly oiling up his cock. Ramsay lets his gaze wander appreciatively over Domeric's naked body with feigned contempt; acting scornful of how easily and wantonly he offers himself. Dom turns his head to look away, studying the wood grain of the bedstead, ashamed.

"What was it you wanted?" Ramsay asks, frowning as if trying to remember. The smallest of whines. Domeric tosses his head back, toes curling in frustration. Ramsay watches him calmly. "Tell me." He won't do it unless he's asked outright, Domeric knows this. He should have learned by now.

Biting his lip and blushing deep red, Dom mutters, "fuck me?" Ramsay doesn't like mumbling. He stays still and silent until Domeric finally looks him in the eye. "Please fuck me?" he asks again, more clearly this time.

"Oh. Hmmn. Perhaps." Ramsay turns his back and ambles back to the table, digging out an apple from the pocket of his coat where he left it hanging over a beam. He sits back down on the bench and begins to peel it with his belt knife. Domeric lets out a tiny huff of disappointment. He arches his back, opening his legs. Whore. All that breeding, gentle upbringing and fancy education and here he was, no better than any two-a-penny slut from a cheap inn or brothel. He knows how shameful he is too, sneaking about and getting fucked between sword drills and heraldry practice. Somehow the extra secrecy made it even seedier. At least the king's brother had the decency to bed whoever he chose and fuck the gossip about him.

Domeric's desperate attempts to both satisfy his filthy fantasies and still be his father's perfect sole heir made him less worthy of the title in Ramsay's eyes. He's a fucking _Bolton_. He wears the flayed man on his fucking surcoat. If anyone speaks against him he could just have the moron dismembered and displayed as a warning to others about what happens to those who disrespect their betters. Though Ramsay loves his brother's tendency to follow rather than lead, it frustrates him no end that they're both so unsuited to their respective positions. Domeric hates the responsibilities and expectations their father heaps upon him, while Ramsay would relish the opportunity to prove himself. Ramsay hated the rote work and endless mediocrity of his life at the mill, while Dom would find it safe and comforting. The only good thing about the situation is Domeric's seemingly endless appetite to have his nose rubbed in his own shortcomings; a desire that Ramsay is only too happy to fulfil.

Ramsay keeps him there, naked, spread, and waiting, while he slowly enjoys his apple, slice by delicate slice. After a while, Dom's hand slides down his belly and rubs cautiously at his cock, eyes watching carefully for any sign of disapproval. Ramsay ignores him, carefully carving around the core of the apple, letting Dom work himself into more need.

Enjoying watching Domeric get ever more flustered and impatient, Ramsay glances around the room as if bored. A gleam catches his eye. Domeric's signet ring, peeking out from inside a handkerchief and tucked neatly on the floor next to a leg of the bed. Snatching it up, Ramsay tries it on his own finger but finds it too tight to get it over his knuckle. Annoyed, he tosses it at Dom. "Put it back on, _Lord Bolton_." He sneers the title. "You're highborn and you can't conveniently forget that while you're being a slut."

There's a definite cock twitch as Domeric slides the ring back onto his finger, resting that hand back on his belly so the gleam of the engraved flayed man is prominent. Ramsay nods curtly and grasps him firmly him by the ankles, yanking him down the bed until his hips are just resting on the edge. Pushing his knees up to spread him open, Ramsay lines himself up and with just the barest of pauses for Domeric's nod of permission, runs his cock up and down the cleft of his arse.

Domeric is tense and tight but the oil is slippery and he's worked it well into himself. Ramsay strokes at his thighs, holding himself pushed firmly against his hole, pressing in but not forcing. "What are you?" he asks softly.

Domeric stares up at him, confused. "Hmm?" he asks, the tension in his belly is making his muscles quiver.

"What are you?" Ramsay repeats, glancing pointedly at Domeric's right hand. " _Who_ are you?"

"I'm... a Bolton?" Dom hazards. Ramsay nods but waits for more. "I'm Domeric Bolton?" No response. Dom clicks his tongue distractedly, trying to guess what Ramsay wants. "I'm the heir to House Bolton- oh!" he gasps as Ramsay scratches his nails along his thighs in a rough but intimate grab, immediately soothing the light grazes with calming strokes. His cock presses against him, just barely beginning to push into him.

"Yes, you are." Ramsay smiles, his voice still low and dangerous. "And what do you want?" lips twitching into a small smile. He pulls his hips back a bit, a tiny threat of stopping.

"I want you to fuck me!" Domeric groans out quickly, his legs wrapping around Ramsay's hips to keep him from stepping away.

Ramsay rocks his cock back against his target and growls, "highborn slut." Domeric twitches, his muscles tensing and then relaxing, his body opening up, accepting Ramsay into him. "Lordling _whore_." Ramsay pushes Dom's knees towards his chest, working himself deeper in. "What do you want?"

"I want you to fuck me. Fuck me. Please!" Dom pants out, his eyes squeezed shut, face turned aside. He often looks away or hides his face when they fuck, sometimes even becoming tearful. But although forcing him to maintain eyecontact has proven to be pretty effective, he tends to come faster and harder when he's allowed to wallow in his shame. Not to mention that it's incredibly good for Ramsay when he cries.

"Whore. Gagging for it. Begging for cock." Ramsay starts to rock in rhythm, lifting Dom's legs so his feet are over his shoulders. "Begging for filthy smallfolk cock." Dom squeaks out, hands grabbing fistfuls of the sheets. Ramsay builds up his pace, grabbing hold of Domeric's hips to keep him from being shoved up the bed. "Look at you," he sneers, "spreadeagle in a peasant's cottage, being fucked by a nameless _bastard_ brat." He palms Domeric's cock, wrapping his fingers around and thumbing at the underside of the head. Domeric groans, head arched back, face screwed up.

Ramsay leans over him, supporting himself with one hand pinning Dom's shoulder to the bed, the other gripping at his hip, forcing his body to curl even more. He's thrusting hard and Domeric grips tightly at his forearms, hands squeezing in rhythm, both urging him on and trying to alleviate the discomfort of Ramsay's weight pressing down on him. "Can't get this in a fucking castle," Ramsay sneers at him. "Can't get some dirty lowborn _prick_ up you when you're wining and dining in the great hall." Domeric's right hand lets go of Ramsay's wrist and he grasps at his own cock, tugging at himself with abandon.

Ramsay grunts and shifts his hand from Domeric's shoulder to his neck. "What are you?" he demands, his fingers curling around Dom's throat. Dom abandons his cock to grab at Ramsay's wrist with both hands, trying pointlessly to pull his arm away. His eyes open wide, and he lets out a panicky strangled squeak. Ramsay shifts his grip slightly; he's not trying to choke him, just wants to illustrate his control. " _What are you_?" he asks again, hand tightening in a brief squeeze.

"I'm a whore, a slut!" Domeric groans, right hand going back to frantically stroking at himself now that he can breathe, legs thrown wantonly over Ramsay's shoulders. Tears are rolling across his cheeks despite his tightly closed eyes. "Fuck me, fuck me, _fuck me_!" He snorts back snot and coughs, turning his shamed face away. "Fuck me!" he sobs, not even trying to hold back the tears now.

Ramsay's pace becomes erratic as Domeric's crying pushes him to climax. His words descend into guttural grunts as he spills inside him, hand clenching around Dom's jaw, just about managing to keep his grip off his windpipe. Dom's nails dig into his wrist as he tries to get that hand away from his neck, tossing his head from side to side. Spent, Ramsay continues to thrust, less forcefully now, but still trying to keep it going for Dom.

Shifting his weight, Ramsay pins Domeric down to the bed with brutal grips to his upper arms. With his legs still thrown over Ramsay's shoulders Dom is bent almost double."If your father could see you now..." he growls. Domeric cries out wordlessly, his whole body twitching. His hand pumps faster at himself and Ramsay can feel he's close. "If _our_ father could see _us_ now," he amends, adding just that bit more filth to it all.

There it is. With a moan that's almost a wail, Domeric spurts into his hand, his thighs clenching around Ramsay's head. Ramsay holds him down and rocks his hips through Dom's orgasm even though his softening cock is sliding out. When the fierce tension in Domeric's limbs turns to exhausted looseness, he eases off and clambers onto the bed to lie next to him, both of them panting and sweaty.

After a while, Ramsay stirs himself. "C'mon," he murmurs, tugging at Domeric's shoulders, "come up here." He pulls Dom bodily back up into the bed properly and tosses a sleeping fur over them both, wrapping Domeric in his arms and stroking his back.

This. This is the other side of the coin that is their relationship. The obverse might be hard and demanding and full of cruel words and torment, but the reverse is soft and loving and full of closeness and love. Ramsay sinks into his brother's affection, soaking up his gentleness and the intimacy of just being here, bodies touching from chin to toe. He nuzzles into Domeric's wavy hair, traces patterns down his hip and thigh with delicate fingertips. This is the part that there's never enough of.

"Ram, I..." Domeric is still panting slightly, face flushed, "gods, fuck." He buries his face into the crook of Ramsay's neck. "You're so good to me."

Ramsay snorts. "I'm not sure 'good' is exactly the word..." His bravado is fading away now that he's come. When they're here in the afterglow, sometimes he hates to think of the way he's just treated his brother, even though he clearly enjoys it. Some of the things that he does in the heat of the moment almost sicken him when he looks back over them afterward and he's continually amazed that Dom keeps coming back for more. He certainly can't be short of potential bedmates, of any description.

"Mmmn, no, it is the word." Domeric kisses at his jaw, his hand guiding Ramsay's chin a notch lower so that they can kiss properly. "You say the most amazing things. It's perfect."

"I called you a lordling whore and made you cry." Ramsay strokes at Domeric's cheek and kisses away a tear stain, savouring it's sweet saltiness. Kisses are as close to an apology as he can get: he's not actually _sorry_ for it.

Dom grins at him. "I _am_ a lordling whore." He wraps a leg around Ramsay's hips and draws their bodies closer together. "And you love it when I cry," he murmurs, kissing him again.

A pause. "...yeah, I love it when you cry," Ramsay admits, a tad sheepishly. His eyes flicker over Domeric's face, searching for a reaction, for rejection. Domeric just cuddles up to him, nuzzling into his shoulder. Ramsay lets out a breath he didn't how he'd been holding. His hand pats about, seeking out Domeric's. Cooling seed squishes between their twined fingers, coating Domeric's House Bolton signet ring. Ramsay squeezes a little, smearing more into the crevices of the engraving.

A sigh. "I really have to go." Domeric makes no move to do so.

"I know. Me too." Ramsay hugs him tighter for a long moment, then lets him go. He tosses back the furs. "Go on then, get back to your bloody castle." When Domeric fails to shift, he gives him a bit of a shove, pushing him out of the bed with a grin. Dom flails and shrieks, falling onto the floor on his knees. Ramsay shoos him away, stopping him from clambering back into bed. With a petulant huff, Dom crawls around the floor, gathering his clothing.

Ramsay stretches out, hands behind his head. He's unashamedly naked, just watching his brother scamper about and get dressed. "Two days?" Dom asks while he's buttoning his overshirt.

"Eh, three. We have a big delivery coming tomorrow." Ramsay finally sits up and gestures Domeric to pass him his breeches and shirt.

Dom pouts a bit as he hands the clothes over. "Three days then. Midday?"

"Midday." Ramsay nods, shaking his trousers right way out. "Any special requests, m'lord?"

Domeric considers while swirling on his cloak. "Just make me not think. No decisions, no etiquette, no choice, no responsibility. Take it all away. "

"Ahh," Ramsay grins wolfishly at him. "In that case, come to the mill, I've got more for you to do for me there than here. Just remember, you asked for it." He snaps his belt, making the leather crack loudly.

Dom jumps and laughs. "I asked for it." He leans in and pecks Ramsay quickly on the lips. Like they haven't just spent the last couple of hours writhing about naked with each other. Ramsay holds him by the jaw and kisses him properly, which makes him blush like a maiden. He fumbles with his gloves. "See you soon, Ram."

Ramsay unbars the door. "Until next time." He holds the door open for Domeric with a sweeping bow, shuffling out the way as Dom steps past him into the afternoon sunlight, back straight and head held high like any highborn heir of honour. " _Lordling whore_!" Ramsay whispers after him with a smirk.

Domeric raises his hand to his mouth, licking at his come-stained signet ring in obscene salute. Grinning, Ramsay shuts the door on him and leans on it with a sigh. Three days.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Please please please let me know how you're feeling about my sub!Domeric, as I'm a little unsure that people will accept him how I've written him and I want to tweak him before I get too deep into the rest of it!
> 
> Any and all feedback, comments, requests happily received!
> 
> Also, I'm on tumblr: still-the-seventh.tumblr.com


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